What is done cannot be undone. There's my thumb upon it. I'm heading for bed. But the five per cent. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. He held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to Rowland. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils.
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